


Purple

by yeaka



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Dominance, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, Harry Potter Next Generation, M/M, Oral Sex, Sibling Incest, Submission, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-07
Updated: 2013-01-07
Packaged: 2017-11-24 00:21:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/628156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Xenophilius puts his grandsons in a very odd position, like usual.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Purple

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.
> 
> A/N: This isn't properly British.

“It’s a brain,” Lysander bluntly says. Because as crazy as he is, he still knows what a brain looks like.

“It’s an Aquavirius Maggot,” Xenophilius corrects him cheerily. “It was a great price, too.”

“Grandpa,” Lorcan tries, but Lysander slips his hand into his brother’s palm and subtly shakes his head behind their grandfather’s back. Lorcan rolls his eyes with a smile and smartly doesn’t finish the suggestion.

Walking around the large glass container with the floating clearly-just-a-brain inside, Xenophilius continues to delight over his latest find. “Your mother’s going to be so impressed when she comes to pick you boys up—your father may even add it to his next book!”

“We’re happy for you, Grandpa,” Lysander laughs, and, despite the insanity in the room, genuinely means it. He’s learned long ago not to question his mother’s side of the family when they think they’ve come up with a new theory, no matter how ludicrous. “What did you need us for, again?”

“Need you for?” Xenophilius looks absently over his shoulder, white-floss hair tumbling into the back of his bright orange robes.

“You called us in from outside,” Lorcan reminds him. “You said it was ‘of the utmost importance.’”

“Oh, yes! Yes, that.” Lysander has to step out of the way as his grandfather sweeps past him, heading for a blue-and-pink pumpkin on the far table. “First of all, I wanted to show you what I’d bought.”

“We’re very impressed,” Lysander says indulgently. Xenophilius grins widely.

“Thank you, my boy.” Then he turns to pick up the pumpkin and holds it out to them. Lorcan obediently puts out his hands, and the oddly coloured gourd-like squash is promptly dropped into them. “Secondly, I need you to feed it. I have to finish this Alihotsy Draught—I’ll need to add it to the water if it’s going to be ready to mate when I find a female.”

“It eats... pumpkins?” Lorcan asks, clearly hesitating with the term ‘pumpkin.’

Xenophilius chuckles as though he’s never heard anything so silly. “No, no, of course not! It needs to be prepared first.”

“How do we prepare it?”

“It needs a good sixty minutes of almost total darkness, although you must keep an eye on it to make sure it doesn’t turn brown. It should turn purple if you do it right, and if it gets too much light it’ll return to normal like it is now. I’ll come get you in an hour and we can feed it.” And Xenophilius straightens up proudly, as though he’s just suggested the best family activity in the world, and a pumpkin’s normal colouring is blue and pink.

After a pause, Lysander considers, “So... we have to turn off all the lights and sit with it?”

“Oh, no, no. That’s not dark enough, and I need the lights to work on my potion. You’ll have to take it in the closet. The one on the second floor with the crack in it should do nicely—if you hold it up to the sliver of light every once in awhile you can check the colour, but otherwise it’ll be completely dark. You might as well go together, so you can talk and won’t be bored. You can shout or stomp if you need me or if the colour goes bad. Don’t open the door until I call you though, okay? Otherwise we’ll have to start again. You boys can handle an hour in the closet while I work, can’t you?”

Lysander desperately manages to stifle a snort, and Lorcan sweetly smiles, “Yes, Grandpa. Good luck.”

“Thank you.” And with a large, appreciative grin, Xenophilius scoops them both up into a wide hug they happily return. Then he casts a longing look at the large fish tank in the center of the room, before ushering them quickly towards the twisted stairs in the center.

When they’re safely on the second landing and out of their grandfather’s sight, Lorcan whispers affectionately, “See, it’s not our fault we’re messed up. It’s in our genes.”

Lysander turns to the wardrobe in the corner Xenophilius must have been referring to and can’t help but smirk as he snorts, “Still, I think we got the better end of that deal.”

It’s a warm summer day in the rook-shaped house, and both boys shed their robes as they gingerly climb inside the too-small-for-two-people empty wardrobe. This leaves them in loose dress trousers and tight hand-painted shirts, because nothing is safe from eccentricity in the Scamander household. They painted each other’s, of course, bright colours on black, because it’s more fun that way. A few of the paints stand out in the dark, because why use just acrylic when you can use florescent too?

Lysander doesn’t need the glowing yellow strip about chest-level to know where his twin is. He could find Lorcan anywhere, pick him out of any pulsing crowd or out of any endless chasm. There’s barely enough space in the wardrobe for them to be more than an inch apart anyway, and he can feel Lorcan trying to bend down between them. There’s a soft dropping sound as the pumpkin hits the floor, and Lysander feels Lorcan straighten up again next to him.

“Why do we have to be in here with it?” Lorcan murmurs, voice still hushed. It’s a good precedent to set, as their conversation is sure to reach points that their grandfather shouldn’t hear.

“Maybe he knows,” Lysander teases. He doesn’t need the light to know that Lorcan’s eyes are widening, and his ears pick up the quick hitch of breath.

“No. You don’t think... could he?” There’s worry in that voice Lysander almost feels guilty for causing.

He places a soothing hand around Lorcan’s pale, thin wrist and rubs at the racing pulse below. “No, I was only teasing. There’s no way he could. ...And even if he did, I doubt he’d then send us into here like this. Although, at least that would mean he approved.”

Lysander can practically feel Lorcan’s smile in the dark. “Only our grandpa could approve of something like this.” Then his smile slips a little, and he breathes a little sadder, “I still hope he doesn’t, though.”

“He doesn’t,” Lysander reassures. He reaches over to brush Lorcan’s platinum hair aside so he can lean forward and peck his brother’s forehead gently. Lorcan tries to stifle a giggle, and Lysander kisses him again, this time on the bridge of his nose. Lysander can feel Lorcan’s pale eyelashes flutter down, and Lysander rains another kiss to the tip of his nose, to the tops of his cheeks, the bottom of his chin, and to the sides of his jaw. When he reaches Lorcan’s lips, he’s met with barely restrained vigor. It’s light with no tongue.

Lorcan pulls back enough to whisper, breath hot across Lysander’s lips, “’Sander, we can’t.”

“Why not?” Lysander mumbles, stepping forward, careful not to knock over the pumpkin. He flattens Lorcan into the back side of the wardrobe (which is thankfully bolted to the floor) and wraps his arms around Lorcan’s lithe waist. One of his legs falls between his brother’s, and he kisses every inch of skin he can reach.

“L-Lysan... ander...” Lorcan choppily breathes, clutching at his shoulders. “Grandpa will hear...”

“No, he won’t,” Lysander casually insists. “You’ll be quiet for me, baby. You always behave for me...” As if to prove his point, he presses his thigh against Lorcan’s crotch, eliciting a soft whimper. He slowly increases the pressure and loves the way Lorcan whines deliciously and tries to bite his lip to stop the breathy moans. But he’s quiet, somehow, just like Lysander knows he can be if he’s instructed to properly. As if rewarding a pet, Lysander croons, “Good boy.”

“Ahh...”

Lorcan slips his hand between them so he can cover his mouth properly, and that forces Lysander to move his kisses to the side of Lorcan’s pastel neck and small shoulders. Normally he’d move Lorcan’s hand, because he wants those lips for himself, and he wants them bruised and kiss-swollen, and he wants to hear every delicious sound that his brother makes. But he understands the necessity here, and he slides his own hand between their bodies. He reaches the hem of Lorcan’s trousers and teasingly slips just the tips of his fingers inside.

“Lysander!” Lorcan squeaks instantly, and his other arm tightens around Lysander’s shoulders. 

“Shhh,” Lysander whispers, “Be a good boy, Lor...” That always makes Lorcan shiver; the one game where they’re _different_ , because in every other form, they’re the same person, but here Lysander keens to _dominate_ and Lorcan sweetly submits. Lysander gracefully slips his fingers further in, teasing Lorcan’s soft skin and stretching his tailored trousers. Lorcan practically melts in his hands and Lysander shoves him against the back wall harshly, pinning him there and holding him up. Voice lowered to a predatory growl, Lysander hisses, “You know you want my cock. You always do, don’t pretend otherwise...”

“I _do_ ,” Lorcan whimpers, “Lys, _please_ , you know I want it... I always do, you know that... but... but Grandpa...”

“Is out there; I know. Don’t you trust me?” Lysander’s hand reaches its destination, and his fingers curl expertly around his twin’s hardening cock, to another languid moan. His other hand traces Lorcan’s spine, slipping under his shirt and reaching under his trousers at the back, stretching the fabric taught. “I’m not going to put my cock in you now, I’m just reminding you how much you wish I would. You want to suck me, Lorcan, you always do—the day isn’t complete unless you’ve swallowed my cum...”

Lorcan’s too breathless and far-gone to form a coherent sentence, and Lysander smirks as he starts to pump his twin slowly, whilst nibbling on Lorcan’s ear. Neither of them mentions how Lorcan’s already sucked him off this morning and licked Lysander’s hand clean while they were outside. They’re still relatively young, and insatiable, and Lysander could fuck his brother all day if nothing stopped him. He wants to fuck his brother now, to shove his hard dick up his Lorcan’s tight channel and pound him into the hard wood behind them. But he knows all too well that neither of them have the control to keep it quiet, and it’s just too risky.

But that doesn’t mean he can’t tease. He slips a single digit down Lorcan’s crack as his other fingers play with Lorcan’s ass cheeks, kneading the soft flesh and causing more erotic whimpers. His middle finger finds Lorcan’s hole and he presses into it lightly, and Lorcan arches wildly into him, gasping around his own hand. “Lysander... oh, please...”

“Please what?” Lysander hisses, tonguing the shell of Lorcan’s ear. “I thought you didn’t want me to fuck you? I thought you didn’t want to be _mine_ anymore?”

“N-no,” Lorcan gasps, just as Lysander’s finger breaches him, the blunt tip rubbing the entrance and gently diving in and out. “Lys, of course I’m yours, I’m always yours... _oh_!”

“Careful,” Lysander grows impishly. “You don’t want Grandpa to know that, do you? Do you want him to tell Mom and Dad what you’re really like, how wanton you become for me? He’ll hear you if you keep this up, you naughty thing...” Lysander pumps a little harder as his finger starts to piston more roughly in and out, slick with sweat and a mixture of the drying cum and lube left from earlier. Lorcan’s always tight as hell, but never quite fully dry—Lysander never lets him be. Sometimes he wakes his brother up in the middle of the night with an ass full of cock, just to make sure he’s properly stretched. Lysander doesn’t ever want to actually hurt his darling twin, after all, no matter where or when the mood might strike him.

Lysander knows he’s found Lorcan’s prostate when he hears, “Ooh, _yes_ , right there!”

“Shhh,” Lysander responds casually, while pressing that magic spot over and over again. “Am I going to have to gag you? Honestly, Lorcan, sometimes I think you want me to tie you up and muzzle you like a dog—are you being disobedient on purpose?”

Lorcan shakes his head pathetically. “N-no, Lysander, please... I’m sorry...” His voice is so quiet now that Lysander almost has to strain to hear it over their very heavy breathing. “Oh... ohhh…”

Lorcan’s almost there. Lysander knows it. He can feel it in the palm of both his hands, in his chest, in his mouth. He knows his twin like the back of his hand and knows when it’s time to switch. His voice hardens as he growls huskily, “Get on your knees.”

“Lysa-ander...”

“I’m so hard,” Lysander grunts. “It’ll only be a second if you do it right—it’ll be so quick, he’ll never catch us...” He tries to soothe Lorcan’s fears, because he really, really wants that hot mouth around his cock, but he knows he doesn’t have to. Lorcan would do it anyway, and Lysander steps half an inch back so Lorcan can kneel submissively between them.

Lorcan doesn’t waste any time tugging down Lysander’s zipper and pulling out his full cock. It’s already dripping at the end and pulsing with need. Lorcan does that to him every time, and even if he isn’t being touched, the thought is enough—the taste, the sight, the smell, the sound of that soft, desperate voice. Lorcan opens his gorgeous lips and kisses the head of Lysander’s dick messily. Then he stretches his jaw wide and moves forward, impaling himself and sliding down impossibly quickly. His mouth is wondrously tight, and he deep-throats Lysander easily and skillfully, and Lysander barely stifles his scream as he hits the back of his brother’s throat. He can barely stand it. He’s going to come on the spot. It’s too good, it’s too amazing... 

“You’re so hot,” Lysander pants, fuzzy-headed and without thinking. He starts thrusting into his brother’s warm, wet mouth, clutching at that perfect blond hair. “So hot, Lorcan, I love you so much, wanna fuck you all day...”

Lorcan makes a muffled sound around his cock that makes Lysander groan. Lorcan hollows out his cheeks and sucks hard, and Lysander throws his head back. He struggles to keep his voice low but keeps up his tirade.

“Wanna do all sorts of nasty shit to you. I wanna put you in a skirt and fuck you in it, tie your hands up with my old Ravenclaw tie and pound you into my mattress, wanna put you on a leash and take you for a walk in the woods and fuck you into the dirt on your hands and knees...” He can feel Lorcan moaning around him and knows that Lorcan’s probably touching himself, and knows he’s close, so close. “I’m gonna put a dildo in your ass when we get home so you’ve got a cock in you every hour, and I’ll spell it to feel like mine; I’m gonna plug you up after I’m done with you and I’m gonna fuck you all over the living room...” It turns into ‘I’m going to,’ instead of want to, because he is _going to_ —he doesn’t care. He’s going to do everything in the book to Lorcan and more, and from the way Lorcan purrs around his cock, it sounds like Lorcan’s going to love it, and Lysander knows he’d take it anyway.

It’s too much. It’s so, so good, and on a particularly harsh suck, with Lorcan’s nose buried in the blond hair beneath his navel, he tightens his grip in Lorcan’s hair and holds him. His balls tighten and Lysander explodes in Lorcan’s mouth, coming all down his throat and holding him firm, so he has to swallow. He’d have to swallow anyway—there can’t be any evidence when they leave. They’d have to make it past their grandfather to fetch their wands—an awful oversight. He rides out his orgasm before slipping into the satiated afterglow. Then he leans an arm on the wardrobe wall above Lorcan’s head and slumps against it.

He hears Lorcan scream around his now-limp cock as Lorcan comes himself, all over his hand. Lysander peers down to watch Lorcan lift his hand to his mouth and start to lick it up.

Lysander awkwardly gets down onto his knees too, again careful not to knock over the pumpkin. Then he leans in to help lick his brother’s hand clean and uses his fingers to lovingly tuck Lorcan back in and zip him back up.

When Lorcan’s done, they share a messy, slightly salty kiss. Lorcan leans his forehead against Lysander’s and mutters breathily, “I love you.”

“I know.”

Lorcan smiles. It radiates through the darkness, and Lysander gently rubs Lorcan’s sides through his t-shirt.

After a minute of general heavy breathing, Lysander adds, “I don’t think he heard us. Don’t worry.” Lorcan sniffs, and Lysander moves to encase Lorcan in his arms, squeezing comfortingly and strong. “It’s okay.”

Lorcan hugs him back and mumbles, “I know. ...I’m sorry I was a baby at first...”

“You weren’t a baby.” Lysander silences him with a kiss. “You’re beautiful.”

Lorcan giggles. Then he nearly jumps and gasps, “Oh, the pumpkin! We should be checking...” And he fumbles in the dark to scoop it back into his arms, holding it up to the tiny crack in the door.

Lysander smiles. “Looks like it’s turning purple to me.”

“You know, it’s strange how Grandpa can be so far out there, and still be right about pink-and-blue pumpkins.”

“A lot of things about our family are strange.”

Lorcan laughs.

Then Lysander shifts him around, and scoops Lorcan up into his lap, resting his chin on Lorcan’s shoulder and holding his stomach loosely. Lorcan holds the pumpkin and leans back into his brother contentedly.

By the time Xenophilius opens the wardrobe doors (with an incredibly bright smile that says his draught went well) Lorcan’s fallen asleep in Lysander’s arms. Lysander gently wakes him up, and they present their completely purple pumpkin to their grandfather, who happily proclaims them the best grandsons ever.

The three of them feed the brain together, which, to Lysander’s surprise, turns out to be an Aquavirius Maggot that’s very hungry for purple pumpkin after all.


End file.
